I am something of a hypochondriac; so any evidence that proves my ‘illness’ is real is proclaimed far and wide. I’ve been keen to let everyone know that my temperature has been running at over 100°F for the past couple of days – feel free to lavish me with sympathy! Try as I might, I can’t seem to change this unfortunate character flaw, no matter how much I hate it…yet I think the time has come to really sort myself out:
This morning, when I took down the medicine box from the top of my wardrobe, Sam had a bit of a play some multicoloured kiddie plasters.
‘I like plasters, Mummy,’ he said (which was hard to believe as he’s always refused to wear them if he’s cut himself).
We had a bit of a chat about them and lined up our favourites. The statement he came out with next is a sure sign that he is my flesh and blood:
‘I like having injuries…but I don’t like hurting mineself.’
Me too, Sam, me too! Is this just confirmation of me passing on the worst side of my personality? Or (and remember I’m poorly so need to hear the answer I want!), is he showing signs of being a great philosopher?! I think it’s genius!